


Lost

by Vantasassy



Series: Find Me [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Davesprite will appear next fic awww yisss, First part of the series, damn this comic hurts but I couldn't resist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vantasassy/pseuds/Vantasassy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d said he hated you.</p>
<p>You didn’t doubt him, nor did you blame him. You kind of hated you too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost

“ _Stop ignoring me._ ”

The dull blue light from the computer casts an eerie glow over your darkened apartment, illuminating your face as you stare at the screen, gaze blank. There are heavy bags under your eyes from lack of sleep, and your hair is tangled and unruly. Knots are scattered through the pale birds nest, and your fingers catch constantly as you drag them through the white tresses. It’s been a week since his last message. A week since he had laid into you, the venom of his words leaving a noticeable sting even through orange text. He’d told you to leave him alone, to leave everyone alone.

He’d said he hated you.

You didn’t doubt him, nor did you blame him. You kind of hated you too.

Groaning, you push back out of your chair and stumble in to the bathroom, wincing as the light flickers on overhead. It’s too damn bright; a cheap set of bars like the ones you would get in a school. You wince, closing your eyes and using your arm as a shield against the onslaught of light, waiting for the fuzz to ebb. You stagger forwards, bracing your hands on the rim of the stained, porcelain sink, glaring at the sheet of reflective glass in front of you, the corners cracked and screws loose.

You hadn’t expected to survive, to be honest. You wish you hadn’t. Because this wasn’t living, not really. You had a pulse – a heart beating in your chest and blood pumping through your veins, but you didn’t feel alive. You felt like a dead mind in a robotic body – your limbs moving on a programmed code. There was a permanent grip on your intestines – ice cold fingers pulling and squeezing, leaving you cold and empty and alone, and you hated it.

People stare at you – the emotionless boy with the red eyes and white hair. Their gazes burn into your back, dragging across your skin and leaving invisible scars that won’t heal. You want to ignore them, but you can’t because you don’t know how. You’ve never had people looking at you before, because you’ve never been real before. You’d been the monster living in the locked room, hidden away from everyone. Cut off from the outside world. You’d never had a chance to be you, because as far as the world knew, you weren’t there. A figment of the imagination, so to speak.

But you suppose, as you stare at the blank face in the mirror, that this isn’t you either. Because that hair, that body; that nose, that jaw and those lips. They’re not yours. They don’t belong to you. They belong to Dirk – they always have. You are just some cheap knock-off – a shitty replica with those little differences that only someone with a keen eye will notice. You’ve never been real – you were made, manufactured. Just an experiment gone wrong; a splinter of a thirteen year old boy who had long since grown into a man.

‘ _You’re nothing_.’ You wince as you remember Dirk’s words, harsh and cold and glaring at you through the screen of your computer. Your grip on the side of the sink tightens, knuckles burning white, and your jaw locks, top row of teeth grinding against the bottom. The buzz from the cheap lights above echoes in your ears, and you can still hear the whirring of the computer from the other room.

You hadn’t meant to piss him off that much – you just wanted him to _talk_ to you again. But you fucked up and now you had no-one.

It’s ironic, actually. Before you had begged to be left alone, for them to stop prodding you, playing with you and just let you be; Let you _free_. And now you had your wish – there was no-one but you and an empty apartment. There was nobody asking you questions, coming to take your blood, testing you and injecting you. You had what you wanted.

And you decided it fucking sucks.

You drop your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sinking to your knees.

“ _Don’t ignore me._ ”

Letters pile up, and up. The same message over and over again and you think it’s stupid. They’re not final warnings, because final means _last_ , as in the _last warning_ and you’ve already had about eight.

You’re being evicted.

Your landlord said he’d help you find a new place – a nice place – but you tell him that there’s no point because you have no money.

“ _That’s the whole reason I’m being kicked out, remember? I can’t pay your rent, so I’m not going to be able to pay anyone else’s rent either._ ”

His only reply was to get a job, and you’d scoffed. Get a job? Not as easy as it sounds – you’d never been to school, never had any form of education, and no work experience. Your only chance of getting a job would be if you sold your own body. Let somebody put their dick in you, cash not card. The idea didn’t seem very appealing; actually, it didn’t seem appealing at all. You’d rather live on the streets than become someone’s play thing – _again,_ your mind whispered.

You press your foot down on the pedal of the bin situated in the corner of your scummy kitchen, dropping the letters into the metal container before letting the lid slam shut once more. You close your eyes, running a hand over your tired face before you stagger backwards, leaning against the kitchen counter. You let your head roll back, eyelids fluttering open as you stare at the patchy ceiling.

You feel ill – hunger, you guess. There’s no food in the kitchen, or in any part of the house, actually. Just aspirin and some tap water. Freedom is pointless, you reason, as you think on what you’ve done with your newly gained liberty. It’s pointless because there’s no such thing. In name, it’s there, but you’re never really free. You can move, walk, run. You can go to the shops, and you can hang at home. You can go out for strolls, go to the pictures, or just piss around in public. But you can’t get a job, because nobody wants to hire you; you can’t get a job because you’re different. And with no job, you have no money.

So in reality, even though you’re supposed to be able to move, walk run. Even though you are supposed to be able to go to the shops, or hang at home. Even though you are supposed to be able to go out for strolls, go to the picture, or just piss around in public, you can’t. Because everyone is grounded by one basic need, and you are being denied this.

Therefore, there’s no such thing as freedom.

You’re just left to waste away.

“ _I’m nothing_ ” and suddenly Dirk’s words become your own and you swallow.

Damn, you fucking hate life.

They won’t let you hang around there anymore. Finally tired of your shit, you see. You can’t buy anything, so they’re kicking you out, after months of watching you sit alone at one of the tables and do absolutely nothing. Huge fucking surprise why they’re sick of you – you use all their toilet roll, too. Shits expensive when you own a diner.

There are only two more places you can mooch now – when you actually get up and leave your apartment, that is; the park, which is not particularly comforting at night, and those public toilets that are just downright disgusting. Those public toilets that are just downright disgusting that you happen to be in right now.

You’re leaning against the sink, feeling the damp of surface soak through your hoodie, your soundtrack the constant dripping of the broken tap just behind you. You’re on your phone, absentmindedly texting, more words joining the bulk of red that’s already taking up half of the screen.

He still hasn’t replied.

He won’t ever, you know this. Yet you can’t help but message him. Updating him on your life, talking as if he’s talking back. It’s pathetic, you know, but you don’t care. You have a bag of your belongings by your side, and nowhere to sleep; nowhere to live. Talking to yourself is the last thing you are concerned with. Letting a breath slip through your lips, you lock your phone and slip it into your jeans’ pocket, flipping up the hood of your jumper before pushing off from the sink and grabbing your bag, swinging it over your shoulder.

The door creak shut behind you, un-oiled hinges grinding over each other. The cold winter air feels like a slap in the face, and you shiver, sniffling before trudging down the lamp-lit streets. The cheap bulbs cast an orange glow across the pavement, a few of the lamps flickering and mosquitoes buzzing around their heads. You hike your backpack further up your shoulder, eyes wandering as you search for somewhere to crash.

_Crash and burn_.

You could always sleep on one of the benches in the park again – you loved that stiff, hard wood under your back; so comfortable. However, you’ll just be told to leave again, the passing coppers not giving a shit what your situation is. You distract people from the pretty allure of the tulips – you’re litter, an unwanted aspect in the lush greenery. You breath out slowly, pausing in your step to look around. You needed somewhere discreet. Somewhere they wouldn’t bother you. Somewhere where you could quietly curl up and freeze to death, passer-by’s walking on, blissfully unaware of the corpse hidden in the darkness.

Resigning yourself to another night alone on the streets, you duck into a nearby alleyway, just behind a block of flats. Pressing your back against the wall, you slide to the floor, the ground cold beneath your bum. You place your bag in your lap, between your knees as you drag them up to your chest, holding them close for warmth. You bury your head in your arms, shoulders rocking a bit with the bitten back sobs, phone remaining silent in your pocket.

“ _Stop ignoring me._ ”

But you know they won’t. The hate you; _Dirk_ hates you.

And you fucking deserve it.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this comic: http://xayti.tumblr.com/post/68102375210/this-dream-i-had-though-it-was-an-au-where-all
> 
> It's amazing, like seriously. This blog is amazing too, so I think you should give them a follow ; )
> 
> There will be other fics - I'm making this a series and each fic will contain like, one or two of the comic panels, so I hope you guys enjoy? And holy shit I hope I've done this comic justice ahhhh


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